


A Stan of Many Appetites

by caliowl



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Commissioned Sexual Art, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Riding, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25477525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caliowl/pseuds/caliowl
Summary: Stan has been either resting in bed or moving about minimally after pulling a back muscle and is getting frustrated in more ways than one. He convinces Ford to give him a good time, and Ford takes care of Stan before and after.
Relationships: Stanford Pines/Stanley Pines
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	A Stan of Many Appetites

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrandyFromTheBottle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandyFromTheBottle/gifts).



> So this is a little embarrassing, but this is the work I FINALLY finished for brandyfromthebottle for the 2018 Stancest Secret Santa. ...Just a *tad* late LOL Luckily for me, brandy is SUPER kind and understanding XD It's also my first and only NSFW I've ever written!
> 
> I commissioned the stunning artwork from the VERY awesome and lovely jjstone on tumblr! They can also be found here on AO3 at ARollingStone, on Twitter at jjst0ne and jjst0neAD, and as Rosetta :) The commission can be found on their tumblr here: https://twitter.com/jjst0neAD/status/1269738816765558786/photo/1
> 
> Thank you so, SO much to my loyal beta, yehvaru, for looking this over and making it less goofy XD; You are a writer's godsend and I adore you to pieces! <3

Stanley Pines is dying.

The pain in his back is _excruciating_ , radiating outward from his lower spine in waves of teeth-clenching agony. From his prone position lying face down on the bed, he can just make out the sky through the window in the Stan O’ War II, a seabird suspended in a swell of ocean air. He attempts to crane his neck further back to follow it with his eyes and moans in anguish as the waves of pain sharpen into merciless daggers.

“Stanley?”

Ford! Sweet, oblivious, _nearby_ Ford!

“Ford!” He calls out, or tries to, as the sheets of his bed muffle his speech. “Come here!”

Heavy footfalls make their way deeper into the cabin until black trousers come into view.

“Ford! Thank Moses!” Stan says to the trousers. “I’m dying!”

“I’ll bet,” comes the response from somewhere above knee-level. “You know you’re not supposed to be on your front like that. It puts strain on your neck. Here,” his hips are suddenly grasped and lifted unceremoniously. Stan cries out as an arm shoots underneath and drags a pillow to rest in its place. “There,” he hears his brother’s insufferably smug voice say, without a trace of apology. “That should be better. Did you accidentally roll over trying to grab something again?”

“No!” Stan hisses, trying not to think about the can of Pitt Cola that had been _just_ out of reach, and feeling his traitorous ears tingle and heat.

“Sure,” he hears Ford say sardonically from above him, and gets an extra insult to injury as one of his surely red ears is tugged on playfully. “Whatever you say, Stanley.”

Stanley growls in frustration. “Aren’t you supposed to be taking _care_ of me? Because if this is your idea of ‘caring’, I gotta tell ya, it leaves a lot to be desired.”

There’s a rather unnecessary, put upon-sounding sigh from above him (seriously, who here is in _actual_ pain??), before he sees the knees in front of him bend towards him and suddenly Ford’s face fills his vision. “My apologies, Stanley. I know you’re going through a rough time waiting for your back to heal. What can I do for you on this lovely afternoon, my dear?”

Stan glares back at him. “Don’t you ‘my dear’ _me_ , jackass! I’m like this because of _you_! If you hadn’t decided we just _needed_ to get closer to that sea monster, I’d be up and around and not have to be reliant on a bookworm for entertainment.”

“Can I really be blamed for that, though? You have to admit, neither of us expected it to attack by using its own head as a _club_.”

“I hope that thing is too dizzy to swim straight, and _you_ ,” he growls, pointing a finger at his brother’s face. “Better be thankful that I can’t move around good, or I would’ve strangled you a long time ago.”

Ford’s eyebrows rise at that, before they glide down into a superior expression. “It’s ‘well’, Stanley. I’d better be thankful that you can’t move around ‘well’.”

Stan stares back at him. “In your sleep,” he says, somberly. “I don’t know how, but I’m gonna kill you in your sleep.”

Ford grins and Stan suddenly feels his head being patted. “You love me too much to do it. Plus, who would make you that horrendous heart attack between two slices of rye that you love so much if you did?”

Stan gasps. “You’re gonna make me the Pastramigeddon?”

“Against my better judgement,” Ford concedes. “But it’s true that you and bedrest have never gotten along well and despite what you may think, I really don’t want to see you miserable.” His face disappears from view and two gentle hands appear in its place. One winds around Stan’s shoulders and the other sneaks underneath to splay against his chest. “Come on, up you go.”

With Ford’s help, Stan manages to maneuver around on the bed so he’s able to get up with as little painful pressure on his back as possible. They continue their playful banter as they head out of the sleeping area and into the small kitchenette. Stan sits obediently and gingerly at the table against his orthopedic back pillow while Ford goes for their mini-fridge and fishes out some pastrami, cheese, Thousand Island dressing, sauerkraut, and a few other ingredients.

Stan watches him work, and rests his head in one hand as he eyes Ford’s backside appreciatively, the trouser material stretching and clinging around it enticingly. He licked his lips as different appetites clash, but he already knows which one will win when his eyes keep flicking over Ford’s muscled, scarred arms, exposed below rolled up sleeves.

“You know,” he purrs, “I can think of other ways for you to make me feel better, if you don’t wanna go the sandwich route.” He grins as Ford throws him a dubious look over one shoulder and runs his eyes deliberately slowly over his twin’s form, adding a salacious wink for good measure.

Ford tips his head back and laughs. “Ever the glutton, aren’t you? What, was it the cold cuts and smell of fermented cabbage that got you in the mood?”

“More like that ass in those pants, Sixer,” Stan replies, and revels as a warm hue spreads across his twin’s cheeks in response. They’ve been together for a while now, and Ford still blushes so easily when Stan compliments him. It’s cute.

“And let all my hard work go to waste?” Ford asks, still red-cheeked, and Stan chuckles at his attempt to play coy.

“If we’re gonna talk about things going to waste, I’d much rather it be the sandwich than my chance to get at that sweet bod, Poindexter.”

This time Ford full-on guffaws, one arm around his heaving stomach while the other supports his weight against the countertop. His smile is wide and easy, his laugh lines prominent, and Moses, he’s beautiful.

And all Stan’s.

Stan holds out a hand and crooks a finger to beckon his brother closer. “Babe. C’mere.”

Ford goes.

He approaches Stan and sits to one side, sliding one hand up Stan’s thigh while the other tangles in his chain necklace to bring his face closer. Stan follows through on the movement, tilting his head and sliding his lips over Ford’s lightly, and gently nips at them. Ford opens up to Stan with a needy moan and Stan dives in eagerly, tasting Ford and Thousand Island dressing from Ford’s sampling during his sandwich making.

Ford pulls back gulping for air and puts a firm hand on Stan’s chest. “Your back-”

“If you say we should stop because of my back, Ford, I swear to-!”

Ford shuts him up with a quick kiss. Stan still makes sure to communicate his displeasure with a dissatisfied rumble, which makes Ford giggle. Stan can still feel his lips tingling from his twin’s mirth when they pull apart.

“I was going to say,” Ford murmurs against his throat, while nipping and sucking the sensitive skin, “to take your back into account when you tell me what you want.” He kisses a heated trail up Stan’s neck, past his cheek, to whisper in his ear. “I want to take care of you,” he husks, his clever hands already making deft work of Stan’s belt buckle, “and I’ll do _anything_ to make you feel good, Stanley.” Ford’s rough fingers make their way from his prominent stomach slowly downward, rubbing at the growing bulge in Stan’s underwear. Ford pulls back slightly to fix Stan with such a heated look that he can’t keep a needy whine from escaping. “How do you want me?”

Stan growls and grabs Ford up, manhandling him into his lap despite his twin’s protests. It doesn’t hurt, and honestly, if it did? Fuck it. He grabs Ford by the hair and pulls his brother’s head forward, wanting to make this kiss all consuming. He thrusts his tongue in roughly, running it along Ford’s teeth before tangling with his brother’s own. Stan savors the slick feeling while he coaxes his twin’s legs open, rubbing the heel of his hand against his brother’s own hardness. He takes the opportunity to suck on Ford’s tongue as he whimpers in pleasure, feeling his dick twitch at the sounds his lover makes.

He feels Ford maneuvering away and takes his time stealing a few more kisses before allowing Ford up with a nip to his lower lip for good measure. Ford immediately falls to his knees before him and Stan can feel a fresh coil of pleasure at his twin’s neediness.

“I thought this was all about what I wanted?” He pants out cheekily, lifting his hips slightly more gingerly than normal so Ford can shuck off his pants and boxers.

Ford takes his cock in hand and Stan hisses between his teeth at the feel of Ford’s calloused, gentle grip on his sensitive shaft. “Somehow, I doubt you’re upset,” he says with a wink. Then he bows low over Stan’s dick and swallows it down to the hilt.

Stan gasps at the feel of wet, velvety heat as it surrounds his cock. One of his hands slides into Ford’s hair, tangling in the soft curls and encouraging his enthusiastic ministrations. Ford ignores the encouragement, instead removing his mouth to lick the length of Stan's cock then creating a suction around the tip. Stan scratches lightly at Ford’s scalp, causing him to hum in pleasure, the vibrations going straight to his dick.

“Oooh, you’re so good with your mouth, Sixer,” he breathes, petting at his brother’s hair as Ford starts to bob his head rhythmically. “Especially that talented tongue of yours. Don’t know why you wag it so much when you could be-fuck!-doing _that_ , yeah, babe, just like that…” Stan moans appreciatively as he watches his brother rub himself through his slacks as he continues to swirl his tongue around the head of Stan’s dick.

“Now, now. That won’t do,” Stan says, pulling his brother off his cock (reluctantly) and admiring the string of drool that appears on Ford’s lips. “You have _way_ too many clothes on, Sixer. You should really do something about that.” He pulls Ford up close. “Especially because this is only ending one way. I’m gonna come inside of you, babe. Gonna fill you right up,” he growls, nipping at Ford’s earlobe and grinning at the heartfelt groan the action earns him. He slides his other hand that isn’t entangled in his twin’s hair down and over his ass, giving one cheek a firm squeeze. “Now, why don’t you go and fetch the lube? Wanna watch you give me a show.” He winks.

Ford surges up and captures Stan’s mouth, ravaging him within an inch of his life. He hums into his brother’s mouth as he tastes the mixture of Ford and himself on his tongue.

“I’ll be right back,” Ford rasps and stands, heading into the bow of the ship towards their shared sleeping quarters. Stan takes the time to admire him, stroking himself idly as he eyes the obvious tent in his twin’s slacks and the veritable bird’s nest he’d made of his hair. He goes to pinch one of his nipples and startles to find cloth there, looking down at his shirt in surprise. Stan is quick to slip it over his head, revealing a naked Stanford leaning against the doorframe, lube in hand and a grin on his lips.

“Excellent,” Stan purrs, holding out a hand for Ford to take. “Have a seat.”

Ford surprises him by settling on top of him on the couch and straddling his hips. “Don’t mind if I do,” he says with a grin.

“Hey, what gives?” Stan asks. “You’re not exactly giving me a good view, Sixer. What about my show?”

“Oh, hush with your show,” Ford chuckles. “Shut up and let me ride you already.”

Stan sat there with his mouth open in shock for a few seconds. Then, “well, Moses, Sixer. What’s a man supposed to say to _that_?”

“Nothing?” Ford asks, squirting lube onto two fingers and rubbing them to warm it. “Just sit back and enjoy it, Stanley.”

“Can I at least get that recorded?” Stan asks, taking Ford’s hips in his hands and giving them a gentle squeeze.

Ford laughs as Stan had hoped he would, and he slides his hands around to Ford’s firm butt cheeks to pull them apart so he can get to the little pucker hidden inside. Ford swats him away.

“What’s the big idea? I thought you wanted a show.”

“I’m a man of many appetites,” Stan says, tapping his brother’s hand and holding his own out. “Lube me.”

Ford snorts and squirts some lube into Stan’s waiting hand. “Always so indecisive.”

“Not a surprise, when it comes to you,” Stan says, busily warming the lube while he watches Ford reach around behind himself. “There are so many things I wanna do to ya, babe, and too little time to do it.”

“I assure you, the feeling is…nnh…mutual,” Ford pants. Stan watches as discomfort and pleasure chase each other across his brother’s features, mesmerized.

“Moses, you’re gorgeous,” he says, bringing his lubed hand around to lightly touch Ford’s, biting his lip as he traces the outside of Ford’s hole that’s stretched around one finger. “Can you handle me, too? Please say yes,” Stan begs, testing one side of the ring of muscle with a cautious touch.

“Oh Stanley, yes, _please_ ,” Ford whines, and Stan pushes in.

His brother is so tight and hot. Stan can feel his dick twitch in interest as he feels around, coming up alongside his twin’s forefinger already pressed against that hidden spot inside. He rubs experimentally, watching as Ford’s jaw drops slightly and he groans in pleasure.

“S-Stanley,” Ford whines, and begins to rock back against the combined pressure of both of their fingers.

“I gotcha, Sixer, I gotcha,” Stan says, taking one hip in hand and starting to thrust his finger in and out of his brother’s hot channel.

“Can you-?”

“-Take over? I thought you’d never ask,” Stan interrupts him, running his pinky finger along his brother’s hand as Ford removes his finger so Stan could replace it with another of his own. “I’m gonna finger fuck you real good, Sixer,” he pants, thrusting two fingers deep into his brother and grinning in satisfaction at his twin’s answering pleasure-filled cry. “Let’s stretch you out.”

For a while, the only sounds that could be heard inside the boat were Ford’s whimpers and moans and the rhythmic, slick sounds of Stan’s slippery fingers breaching him over and over again. Stan closes his eyes, losing himself in the sounds of his brother’s pleasure, the feeling of his brother’s six fingers grasping at his shoulders and threading through his hair. It was hot, and it was overwhelming, and Stan _needs_ to be inside him.

“Ford, I-I need-”

“M-me too.”

Stan slips his fingers from his twin just as Ford reaches behind himself for Stanley’s cock to get it at the perfect angle. Then he sinks down.

The feeling is glorious. Stan can feel his jaw drop to an embarrassing degree, but he doesn’t care. He gets two handfuls of Ford’s hips and pulls him further down to the hilt. Ford moans and wraps his arms around Stan’s neck, and presses his face into one of his shoulders. “Stanleyyy,” he moans, canting his hips a few times as if to test their connection.

“ _Fuck_ , Ford,” Stanley breathes out, practically crushing his brother to himself. “I love you. I love you _so_ much.”

“I love you too, Stanley,” Ford whispers, and it’s funny how quiet they’re being considering they’re out in the middle of the ocean on a boat with no one near them for miles. They can be as loud as they want. But it just doesn’t feel right at this moment. No, this is a moment Stan feels like he wants to keep for himself. A little bubble of wholeness and love that gets to be just for himself and Ford, a private part that belongs to the two of them alone.

With a shuddering breath, Ford begins to move. Just a little rocking at first, but soon he’s lifting himself up and dropping down, bouncing himself on Stanley’s cock. Stanley can only lean back and take it all in, watching Ford’s muscles in his arms as he uses the backrest behind Stan to lift himself up and feeling the strength in his thighs as he lowers himself down. Feeling for all the world like he’s using the rhythm of the ocean for guidance.

“Fuck,” he moans. “Ford, you’re so good. You’re doing so good. Riding me like a fuckin’ champion.” Ford snorts out a laugh through his efforts and Stan grins, reaching around behind him to grab at Ford’s ass again, spreading his cheeks to help Ford spear himself further on Stan’s dick. “Lemme help you out here,” he says, grabbing at Ford’s ass cheeks greedily as he thrusts up into him, both hearing and feeling his brother gasp at the abrupt change in pace.

“Gonna fuck you good, Ford. Gonna fuck you fuckin’ silly,” Stanley growls, fucking up into his brother in earnest, angling for Ford’s prostate and grinning in triumph when Ford cries out in ecstasy.

“St-Sta-! Uhn! Stan-Stanley!”

“Yeah, that’s right, lemme hear ya,” Stan growls, thrusting into his brother with everything he’s got. _Moses_ , Ford felt fucking _amazing._ “Scream for me, Stanford. C’mon, baby, c’mon!”

“ _Stanley!_ ” Ford howls, and Stan can feel himself getting close, his brother’s voice bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, Ford, that’s it! Come for me, baby,” Stan pants, reaching for Ford’s dick and pumping it in time with his thrusts. “Wanna hear ya, wanna _feel_ ya. C’mon, c’mon…”

For a few desperate seconds, he takes it all in. The rhythmic slapping of flesh on flesh as he thrusts almost frantically into his twin, the silky feel of skin on Ford’s cock as he pumps it furiously, the humid puffs of air as Ford pants passionately into his ear. He’s so, so close, headed right toward a precipice, dancing on the knife’s edge of pleasure-

And then Ford cries out, and his body goes stiff in ecstasy, his already tight channel clamping down on Stan’s sensitive dick-

And Stan comes, filling his brother up, grasping at his hip and his shoulder as he clings desperately to him, clutching his body to his as tightly as possible while they ride their highs together.

They come down slowly, Stan loosening his grip somewhat and Ford leaning his forehead on Stan’s shoulder, gasping as though he’d run a marathon. The gusts of heated breath cause goosebumps to rise on Stan’s sensitive skin and he shudders, turning his head to press a line of lazy kisses over his brother’s shoulder in turn.

They sit there for some time, basking in the afterglow, Ford running his fingers gently through Stan’s hair and pressing gentle kisses to his scalp while Stan continues to run his lips over all the skin he could reach.

“…I dunno about you, but I’d say that beat the Pastramigeddon by a _mile_.”

Ford snorts in surprise and then starts laughing in earnest, swatting lightly at Stan’s shoulder as Stan chuckles.

“I’d hope so! Or else you and that sandwich can keep each other company tonight.”

“Ugh,” Stan mutters. “Think of the mess.”

“You’re disgusting.” Ford says, getting up and off of Stan gingerly. “I love you.” He bends down and presses a soft kiss to Stan’s temple before shuffling off to the bathroom. Stan can hear the water running as Ford calls out, “how’s your back? Did it survive the sudden activity alright?”

“What back?” Stan calls in reply, but as he shifts in his seat he begins to notice the twinges of pain the endorphins had covered up. “Eurgh. It’s not worse for wear. I’ll take it.”

Ford returns with a hand towel, which he uses to clean Stanley with, taking extra care to be gentle. “Just a few more days, I think. Then you’ll be up and ready to go, terrorizing the general populace again in no time.”

Stan flicks Ford’s ear for the remark and Ford giggles. “You’d better watch yourself. It’ll be your ass I’ll be terrorizing first.”

“I thought you just did?”

“Heh. Yeah. I did, didn’t I?”

Ford shakes his head and throws the hand towel aside. “Here. Be a good boy and eat your heart attack.” He passes the plate with the Pastramigeddon over to Stanley with a napkin.

Stan grabs the sandwich and takes a big bite. Perfect, just the way he likes it. “I mean it, Sixer. As soon as this back is better, you’ll know it.”

“I’m sure I will.”

* * *

  
Days later, Ford is double-checking fishing lines when he’s unceremoniously hoisted in the air and thrown over a shoulder. “Stanley?!”

“Back feels great! C’mon, Sixer, let’s test ‘er out! Time’s a’ wastin’!”

The fishing lines won’t be remembered until nightfall. But then, there’s always pastrami sandwiches.


End file.
